


Can't live without you

by TheHatLady



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Body Horror, Body insecurity, Communication Issues, Emotional Constipation, Flowers, Hanahaki AU, Hanahaki Disease, Lovesickness, M/M, Not sure how much of it yet, Rating May Change, Unrequited Love, hanahaki byou, just a lil bit, yuri is Bad at Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-11-21 17:03:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11361777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHatLady/pseuds/TheHatLady
Summary: It had taken Yuri approximately a year to fall for Otabek Altin. And another six months to realise that it was killing him quite literally.The pretty petals inside him grew with every time his heart seized when they spoke about everything and nothing. Even more so with looks passed between the two with the fondness of a close friend.Yuri has kept it all carefully hidden.He was selfish for wanting more, wasn't he?





	1. Prologue

 

Yuri felt immensely grateful towards the frayed, black hair tie that kept the slightly sweaty strands out of his face as he miserably coughed and retched into the toilet inside the cramped hotel bathroom. Things had gone downhill fast since last week and it was physically and mentally exhausting.  
He rested his hot forehead against the cool porcelain basin and contemplated the tiles. It was a nice bathroom, all things considered, but he just couldn't find it within himself to appreciate the matching decor.

Yuri let out an annoyed sigh and slowly brought himself onto his feet. He flushed the toilet, although not before casting it a disdainful glare, and stumbled into the vague direction of his bed. The shirt he usually wore for bed had turned uncomfortably damp and clung to his back, so he unceremoniously pulled it over his head and threw it into a corner of his temporary home.  
He let himself fall onto the sheets and mumbled an apology to Potya who had made himself quite at home in the center of the bed and turned off the small desk lamp on the nightstand.  
Nudging aside the growling cat as gently as possible, he buried himself under the blanket and his face in the pillow. He breathed in the unfamiliar washing detergent and suddenly felt a stab of loneliness. He just wanted to go home. Yuri knew what was happening, why his throat was raw and bleeding and that it could only get worse. Breathing felt painful "This is like the shittiest way to go." he grumbled quietly to nobody.

Beka would laugh at the ridiculousness of if all if it weren't so sad. Thinking about Otabek hurt a lot more than his aching throat, but it still threw him into a violent coughing fit. It startled Potya, who had only just gotten comfortable again and made him clutch his bare chest and throat in an attempt to calm himself down.  
Yuri managed to do so eventually, but not before spitting out every appropriate curse he could conjure up from the top of his head and forcing a few deep breaths into his spasming lungs. He could feel a foreign object stuck to the roof of his mouth and he reached for it with his index finger and thumb.

Slightly limp from the warmth of his body, small and innocuous. A bright blue petal lying on his stretched out palm, yellow where it used to meet the center of the blossom. The rest of it was still inside, growing, thriving, blooming alongside many of its sisters, feeding off of feelings for someone he couldn't have. And also him.They had taken root last week. It was already too late. For something that was going to kill him eventually it sure was pretty. 

With a disgusted expression, Yuri flicked it into the darkness of his hotel room. The lights of passing traffic painted odd patterns on the worn tapestry.  
He felt like breaking something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in love with this au since I love flowers and pain, so now y'all have to suffer with me. This is literally the first time I ever wrote anything coherent and I'm also not a native speaker, so feel free to criticize ovo  
> (The rating might go up near the end)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Beta'ed by a dear friend)

Morning was hell, but not as bad as it could be. He was sore, his throat achey, and breathing took more effort than usual, but it was nothing compared to last night. He'd have to get tea or some other soothing shit after today's training, he thought to himself as he threw the duvet off and slipped out of bed.

Potya had also woken up and demanded attention and food by scratchily meowing up at him. The cat usually didn't accompany him on his travels to various arenas during the season, and only could because Yuri had bribed the receptionist. But his deduschka had finally agreed to visit a hospital and couldn't watch Yuri's miniature puma. His back had gotten progressively worse over the course of autumn but the stubborn old man's coarse beard always bristled with animosity at the mere mention of medical help, like an old, gray cat being served an unsavoury meal.

He did give in though, after some gentle bullying and after Viktor had held a rather passionate speech about health and familial bonds when he caught his grandfather waiting for Yuri in front of their home training rink.  
Yuri would rather eat nails than admit how grateful he was. Manipulative bastard. Viktor had been radiating this particular post-marital bliss, so maybe that had given his infuriating charisma an additional boost. Apparently this honeymoon-y mood still hadn't worn off after a good year of being officially shackled to his bumbling husband. Gross.

He shivered. Barefoot and still in nothing but his briefs, he briskly walked over to his half unpacked cheetah print suitcase and fished out his training clothes and a squished protein bar.  
Yuri hastily put on the faded band t-shirt and his black, worn training leggings and shuffled into the tiny kitchen.

It had already been about two years since Viktor had performed his presumed swansong at the Sochi Grand Prix Final. The somber aria had grated on Yuri's nerves with its plaintive tone.Viktor actually managing to wring enough emotion out of his body to make something as cheesy as this seem genuine irked him no end.  
The crowd ate up such garbage like freshly made piroshki, and Viktor managed to fool them into believing it every time. He'd always been a splendid actor.

Yuri had grown suspicious when Viktor tried to inconspicuously remove himself from the microphones shoved into his face shortly after he'd been crowned winner for the fifth consecutive time. Because if Viktor was anything but, it was inconspicuous, and he'd never pass up a chance to be the center of attention and spew some bullshit about his passion for the sport and believing in himself or something. Instead, he had successfully, and of course, charmingly, excused himself and hurried into one of the emptier corridors that was reserved for the skaters and their coaches right before their performances.  
Since Yuri had been looking for an opportunity to escape his own fawning fans, he uttered a brief 'be right back' before squeezing his way through the awwing crowd and semi-stealthily followed suit to ask what Viktor was being all shady for.

In the end, he found him crumpled in the men's room, puking his guts out in one of the stalls. Yuri pulled a face but had to begrudgingly admire the fact that this asshole had managed to pull off a flawless performance whilst obviously feeling like total shit. He'd been there of course, but that didn't make it less annoying.

"For fucks sake, old man! Are you choking on your medal or something?"  
He'd stepped up behind him (but not too close) and Viktor - who hadn't noticed the intruder until now - flinched and turned his head to face him.

The half sympathetic, half gleeful smirk on Yuri's face froze. Blood. On his hands. Sluggishly dripping from the corner of his mouth. His lips stained bright red. Viktor's eyes were wide with surprise and had a slight feverish gleam to them.  
"Y...Yuri? What are you..." he didn't get to finish.  
"What on *earth* did you do to yourself?!" Yuri hissed as he stepped closer, dug his hands into the red and white fabric of Viktor's jacket and pulled him around. The wrongness of the situation was jarring, yet he couldn't look away from the wreckage.

Viktor just stared back at him, now facing him fully, back slumped against the wall. Given more time he surely would have come up with a comforting lie.  
Which he didn't have apparently, because Yuri could make out a significant amount of small, pinkish white blossoms among the carnage. He felt the colour drain from his face. The realisation sinking like stone in the pit of his stomach. Cold and unyielding.  
Yuri forced himself to let go of Viktor's jacket. He'd held on so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Who is it." He pressed out between clenched teeth.  
"If I told you, you'd assassinate both him and me." It was a weak attempt at his usual playfulness but it fell flat. His throat sounded completely shot.

Yuri knew perfectly well who it was, Viktor had been dramatically whining about that pathetic drunkard for ages.  
To fall so fast and hard for some stranger he'd only known for one evening, barely half a conversation and a handful of dances was so very like him. Yuri wanted to slam Viktor's bloodied, handsome face against the wall and scream at him for being such a goddamn idiot.

"Funny isn't it?" Viktor smiled tiredly. "For this...this fascinating, *beautiful* man to just...waltz into my life, mess it up and then just leave..."  
*More like tangoed into it and make him act like an insufferable lovesick poodle for months on end.*  
"I can name at least five of your exes that would say the same thing about you." Yuri said flatly. "And I'm the last person to care about your wrecked relationships."

And Viktor had laughed. Sharp, insincere and with an edge of despair. The kind of laughter from someone so far out of his element he didn't know where to go next.  
Yuri sat down beside him, as far away as the limited space allowed.  
"You still owe me a choreography before you croak."  
Wrecked indeed.

A paw full of sharp claws digging into his calf brought Yuri back to the present. He'd been spacing out standing in front of the sink and holding a bag of dry cat food.

In the end things worked out splendidly for him, didn't they? Yuri thought not without bitterness. No operation that turned him into an emotionally stunted zombie. No suffocating on a bed of bloodied flowers. Though Yuri didn't put it above Viktor - him with his knack for theatrics - to die, artfully arranged on his bed, strewn with a tree's worth of cherry blossoms.  
In the end it was just heaps of anonymously bought expensive medicine (that did fuck all to cure it but did prolong the inevitable) and double the amount of patience.  
For someone that had spent the better part of his life chasing after Viktor, Katsudon had sure taken his sweet time.

He poured a healthy amount of dried niblets into the bowl he'd brought along, filled the mug intended for toothbrushes and such with tap water and put both on the floor. The cat strutted unhurriedly towards his breakfast, tail ramrod straight. He'd do just fine. Yuri would be gone for the majority of the day (if Yakov didn't send him home again) but Potya would most likely just spend the day sleeping on Yuri's dirty laundry.

Yuri wolfed down his own breakfast in two bites before hurrying to the bathroom to wash his face and superficially brush his teeth. He aggressively forced a hairbrush through the worst of his tangles and tied it back into a messy bun. Glancing into the mirror one last time, he grimaced at his bedraggled, tired appearance. Hardly anyone ever came close enough to notice the dark circles, and Yuri had been systematically avoiding the ones that did. He frowned at his reflection one last time, went to collect the rest of his skating equipment and put on his boots and a jacket. He didn't have to look flawless until in a few days.

He scratched his fuzzy companion - who was still busy eating - behind his dark, twitching ears as he was just about to leave.  
He was going to be fine, Yuri said to himself, and stepped out of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was fun, wasn't it?
> 
> Maybe next chapter we'll finally meet Beka!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Tweaked their past interactions a little bit to suit this awful new idea I had.

* * *

It was getting warmer outside, but the march air was  
cold, still clinging to the chill of winter. Milano wasn't very busy this time of year.  
Yuri had yet to see much of the city itself, but the overcast sky, his jetlag and the fact that he'd most likely be accompanied by "The Skating World's Hottest Power Couple" did very little to get him in the mood for sight seeing. Neither Yuuri nor Viktor were competitive anymore, but they both insisted on following him around. Well maybe they'd just wanted an excuse to visit Italy.

It was still too early into the competition to relax anyway and falling into the dull trance of repetition always kept various depressing thoughts at bay.  
The last days of training before a big event always left him with a deep seated ache in-between overstretched sinews and ligaments. Well, more than usual.  
The ever present tremor of tired muscles made him - the youngest skater to ever win a gold medal in the Grand Prix Final - , epitome of grace and control, trip over over his own two feet.  
Yuri took a deep breath and jogged the rest of the way.

 

"You look terrible." Yakov grunted after giving Yuri a scrutinizing once-over. It was probably very true, but Yuri could still feel his left eyelid twitching in irritation.  
They were in the changing room of the Agorà Ice Stadium and he'd already started kicking off his boots.  
"I feel much better already." Yuri haughtily glared back at his coach.

It still felt strange to not have to physically look up to him anymore, and Yakov Feltsman wasn't exactly a short man either. Puberty had ruined many a child prodigy, and it could have been kinder to him. But he'd gritted his teeth and fought with his changing muscles and bones, bullied his body into submission through the growing pains with both the care and carelessness only athletes had. Viktor had been tall as well, and he'd stayed at the top for as long as he'd been on the ice.

"I won't have you disgrace yourself out there, you better be in top condition for this, understood?"  
Yuri knew by now that this was his coaches' rough way of being worried about him. He didn't need it though. He'd skated with a fever and still made it to the podium, this was nothing.  
"Screw that! Not showing up at all would be a disgrace, I don't need you babying me all of a sudden.", he grumbled and sat down on one of the benches to unpack his skates.  
Yakovs' brows furrowed in annoyance as he watched him, giving his perpetually angry looking face even deeper lines.  
Yuri wondered for a moment how long Yakov was going to keep coaching. He was just a bit younger than grandfather after all...  
Knowing him though, he'd coach Russia's best skaters 'till he dropped dead.  
Yuri shooed that morbid train of thought out of his head. Those happened a lot lately.  
He heard a defeated sigh after a few moments of silence as he was busy tying his laces and felt a large hand ruffling his already messy hair for a second.  
Yakov then left the changing room to wait for him outside.

They were quite early, neither Otabek nor most of the other contestants in the seniors practice group had arrived yet. Only that one Korean skater and someone he didn't know had already started warming up. Yuri removed the guards from his skates and stepped on the ice.

 

It had been some time since he'd seen Otabek. Even longer since he'd properly talked to him.Things had been a bit tense and the distance of several countries between them did not help.

Yuri remembered last year's GPF. Beka had stood next to Yuri, tall and proud, gold glinting on his chest. He wore his country's flag draped around his shoulders and waved towards the cameras, the usually stoic face completely transformed by one of his rare smiles. It truly was a sight to behold.

Yuri almost forgot to be mad about someone stealing the top spot. He didn't mind loosing to the kazakh skater, who had evolved into a formidable rival over the past year. Almost. When did he get so good? It was maddening to not be up to date.

It was hardly stealing though, Beka had won it fair and square by delivering an awe inspiring performance.  
He had stood there on the ice - his body still frozen in his finishing pose - head thrown back, eyes closed, one arm stretched out above him, hand reaching for something unreachable, the other on his broad, heaving chest.

Only after a moment of dazed silence, Yuri released the breath he'd been holding and loudly joined the thunderous applause.  
Otabek slowly lowered his arm and returned to a normal stance, searched for him in the audience and finally locked eyes. Yuri felt like he was being pinned down by something dark and feral, like a black panther about to pounce. Then he smiled up at him and the moment was broken. Yuri who had momentarily gone quiet, resumed his cheering and whistling, twice as loud as before, the sting of failure an insignificant annoyance in the back of his mind.

On the podium, Yuri barely heard Phichit - the bronze medalist - enthusiastically suggesting a group photo and only reacted as he felt Otabeks' hand on his back, guiding him along and pulling him close for the picture.  
Their last face to face talk had been...strained to say the least, and the sudden friendly proximity was overwhelming. Yuri could feel Bekas' warmth turning into his own. His chest contracted painfully and he forgot to breathe.

"Finally a medal to match your name, Altin!" He jabbed his ellbow into Otabeks' side.  
"Took you long enough!"  
This caused him to remove his arm from around his shoulders (for which Yuri was only partially relieved about) and give him a serious, measuring look. Yuri bit his tongue.

"I could get used to seeing you in silver.",  
He squinted, whilst tilting his head.                  
"It really brings out your eyes."

  
Yuri resisted the urge to kick his shins and merely resorted to wrapping his own arm around Otabeks' shoulders and messing up his already worse for wear hairdo.  
He doesn't have issues with proximity, not at all.  
"At world's I will skate you into the ground Altin!" Yuri quipped back with a challenging grin.  
With the hand that wasn't trapped between their bodies, Otabek pushed his gel and spray sticky hair out of his face and looked up at Yuri, one corner of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly, dark eyes glinting.  
"I can't wait to see you try."

 

Yuri pulled away from these memories to concentrate on the task at hand. He didn't have time to drift off, so he gained in speed and took off into a quad lutz. Not a single wobble as he landed. Take that Yakov. Take that, mystery flowers threatening to suffocate him from the inside if he didn't get over his stupid crush.

This year's theme was particularly vague and yet another 'brilliant' result of Viktor fucking Nikiforov's divine intervention in his skating career.  
Ever since that last minute chaos of an exhibition program two years ago he'd started to systematically murder the 'fairy' persona his fair and androgynous appearance had granted him. Even though it had worked well with the public and had certainly helped getting sponsors it was never meant to outlive puberty. No, he had grown out of that skin.

Yuri had even considered cutting off his long blond hair but recoiled at the idea of copying that same shocker move Viktor had pulled at seventeen. A lion needed his mane to be recognised after all.  
After weeks upon weeks of him struggling for the flexibility he'd once harnessed so effortlessly - ending with a badly sprained ankle - some sort of outlet was needed and strangling someone sadly wasn't an option.  
The compromise was him taking Otabeks' hair clipper to the back of his head.  
Yakov was furious, Mila overjoyed, Lilia had clucked her tongue in disapproval.

Otabek had given him an unreadable stare, a thumbs up and a "Looks great, Yura". It was enough to make Yuri's heart jump into his throat. He flipped the strand he'd been fiddling with over his shoulder and replied with an "Of fucking course it does!".  
It was all the approval he'd needed. He was so very glad the camera in his phone was too shitty to record the heat creeping up his cheeks.

 

Yuri's warm-up jumps transitioned into the harsh step sequences of his short program.  
It was fast, it was brutal, he'd expected nothing less.  
As unwelcome as Viktor's involvement in his programs was, he was improving because of it. Once labeled a genius you could get away with a lot apparently, even as a washed up has-been.

He arched his back and pulled up his free leg overheard in a layback spin, when he caught a glimpse of a new figure stepping on the ice and paid it no attention at first, but then he recognised the colours of the kazakh flag on his training jacket. A feeling as if he'd missed a step on a flight of stairs jolted through him. The hand that had caught the blade on his left skate clenched involuntary and he felt it bite into his palm. He'd forgotten his gloves of course and hissed out a curse as he slowed down and let go of his skate.  
A rookie mistake. Nice one, Plisetsky.  
Yakov, who was busy making polite conversation with Lilia, didn't notice thankfully.

Otabek did though and glided closer, both to greet him and to inspect the damage. It was a straight line from the webbing between his index and middle finger to the ball of his hand.  
It wasn't deep but it was bleeding and hurting disproportionately to its size.  
"I have some peroxide in my bag"  
Otabek had carefully grabbed Yuri's bleeding hand and looked up at him with a slight frown, as if to ask for permission to tend to it.

"I have my own, jerk!"  
He didn't mean to sound quite so hissy when he snatched his hand away. He was lying also, his own bottle of disinfectant had been empty for half a year.  
Otabek gave him a doubtful look. Bastard knew him too well, Yuri didn't even carry bandaids.

"I insist." He said with an amused expression.  
"You're going to bleed all over yourself if you leave it like this, come on." Otabek made a 'follow me' gesture with his hand and skated towards the exit.  
Always the gentleman. Yuri wished for the ground to swallow him whole. His palm was stinging quite irritatingly though and so he surpressed his childish instincts.  
"Gee, thanks, mum" he grumbled but it lacked bite.

He didn't have enough willpower to say no to that face today anyway, so he complied and followed suit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens and took forever to write

Yuri had never in his life felt more gangly and overtall than when he stood behind Otabek as the latter knelt down to rummage in his sports bag. He awkwardly held his hand - that was still profusely bleeding - away from his body and kept to watching Otabek's back.  
Nervous energy was raging beneath his skin, yet he didn't dare to move a muscle.

Having apparently found what he was looking for, Otabek sat on one of the wooden benches and motioned for Yuri to sit beside him.

He plopped down with a huff as if Otabek had committed great offense by offering his aid, but didn't complain as the other cleaned the blood welling up from his palm with a damp tissue. The disinfectant made him wince, but Otabek steadily held his wrist, applied a bandaid over the cut and carefully smoothed out the wrinkles.  
Patching things up, eh?

Everything looked better once it disappeared underneath a bandaid. This one had tiny, brown bears printed on the white gauze.

Yuri would have made fun of him for keeping his dumb little gift, if he weren't so hyper aware of Otabek's thumb still resting over the vulnerable part of his bony wrist, and the fact that his heart decided to do quad flips because of it.

"I admit, I expected something more like a lace handkerchief from a noble knight such as yourself."

Yuri said faux mockingly and smirked, but his facial muscles trembled around the dishonest expression.  
Jean Jacques fucking Leroy skating over his bare fingers would be heartily welcomed if it meant not being faced with any more of this agonizingly familiar back and forth of their friendly banter.

He was a horrible liar and probably made a face like someone died.  
Maybe classes from Viktor would have been helpful.

Otabek furrowed his brows at him but acknowledged the jab with a snort and that almost smile of his.

"I doubt lace would suit that vibe you've been going for"

Yuri slowly pulled his hand back into his own bubble of personal space. His damned heart pounded in his throat. He'd missed him so much.

"Shut up, I look good in anything!"

Otabek humoured him and nonchalantly deadpanned:

"You brought animal prints back in fashion so there must be some truth to this."

Despite himself - after a few seconds of disbelieving silence - Yuri let out a short bark of laughter and elbowed him into the side.

"Fuck you!"

For someone so quietly polite he sure knew how to be a rude shit.  
Yuri must be a bad influence.

Otabek was now too fighting a grin, wrapped an arm around his back and pulled him close.  
Yuri almost choked on his laughter.  
He could've buried his face in the soft skin of his neck if he leaned in just a little bit closer...

But he didn't.

Yuri mentally slapped himself and fought to release the tension he'd been holding in the bunched up muscles of his shoulders.

Even if Otabek had felt the recent strain on their friendship, which he most definitely had, it was unlikely that he going to ask him about it.  
This was both maddening and comforting at the same time. 

"Did something happen lately?" 

Yuri froze.  
Fuck, nevermind then.

"Of course not! It's just been a rough season."

Well it wasn't a lie.  
Yuri ducked out from under the arm around his back and shifted away from him.  
Beka wore a gentle expression but his dark, dark eyes were worried and inquisitive. 

"Listen, if this is still about that mess last year..."

Yuri bristled.

"...you need to talk to me about it, alright?"

He was going to be sick.  
Fooling a stadium full of strangers into believing he was just fine and dandy was one thing - fooling his frustratingly observant best friend?  
Not fucking likely.

His insides twisted around the word 'friend'. When did it stop being enough? 

"I don't need to talk to you about anything alright?!"

Otabek looked like he'd been slapped but fought not to appear hurt.  
Regret for his harsh words immediately sparked through his chest but he just couldn't make himself say sorry.

After a brief silence heavier than lead Otabek said with an even voice:

"I believe we have plenty to talk about." 

The muscles of his jaw clenched. Yuri knew how much he hated being kept in the dark about things.  
Otabek had an unusually high tolerance for his bullshit, but Yuri must have steadily drained the endless well of his patience over the course of last year. He didn't even want to think about it. 

The air was getting tight, an invisible hand clenched around his ribcage. If he listened closely he was certain the rustling of leaves inside him could be heard with every breath he took. 

Otabek was still looking at him, eyebrows furrowed, expecting some sort of answer.

Staying any longer would soon make the room look like a herd of elephants went rampant in a flower shop. 

Things had started to go well again, their conversations beginning to regain semblance of what they used to be.  
His eyes were burning.  
They'd been so close to being normal again.

Yuri suddenly got to his feet, shoulders rigid, and looked down at Otabek. His face ugly and twisted with hurt and words left unsaid.  
Oh god, Beka still looked so lovely and sincere, it had been foolish to believe they could be friends again.

"Yuri, I'm..."

"Don't."  
Yuri interrupted him.

"Don't apologize."  
Clenched teeth, eyes cast to the ground.

"Yuri!"

Otabek got up too and reached out for him but Yuri smacked away the stretched out hand and started to shift towards the exit.

"Yuri!!"

Yuri looked up at Otabek, which turned out to be a mistake. He was a hair's breadth away from breaking down and telling him everything. How he'd missed him so damn much, how he craves for his presence, his thoughtfulness, the late night talks and impromptu bike trips.

Instead he turned on his heels and briskly walked out of the door.

Otabek's eyes still bored in the back of his skull.

########

The cool spring air filling his nostrils outside the stadium was like the first breath after an eternity spent underwater.  
Greedy gulps of oxygen.  
In. Out. Breathing is easy.  
Having a fit in public would result in an ambulance and that would beat the entire purpose of his secrecy. Looking over his shoulder he was relieved to see that Otabek hadn't come after him. Thank god.

Most of his things were still inside but there was no way of going back and playing it cool now.  
Thankfully, even in his frenzied getaway, he'd had the mind to grab his jacket which held his room keys and his phone.

Being this close to him was obviously dangerous, but he had hoped to cram in a few hours of practice at least.  
He'd barely managed one.  
Man, Yakov was going to be so pissed.

 

There was a stinging pressure growing behind his eyes so Yuri massaged his temples.  
His body hadn't reached this point of satisfying exhaustion yet and he felt antsy.  
Running the way back seemed like a start, but when he looked down at his feet, the scratched up, black plastic of his skates looked back at him.

"I'm a fucking idiot."  
Yuri groaned at his own stupidity. 

Well so much for running, walking home barefoot it was. He'd have to watch out for glass shards.  
Yuri sighed, forced his feet out of their worn confines and started padding along the cool sidewalk.

Catching a glimpse of himself while passing one of the shop windows he came to the conclusion that he looked positively homeless. Pale, gaunt skin stretched over fine bones, cracked lips, tired, hard eyes.  
Maybe if he sat down on the sidewalk, passing samaritans would throw him enough change for the bus, Yuri thought grimly.  
The lackluster hairbun had completely dissolved by now and resembled a blond bird's nest in the hood of his jacket. Yuri felt for his hair tie and sighed in relief as it the familiar ragged fabric tangled itself around his fingers.  
'Small pleasures' he thought, and slipped it onto his wrist.

########

Sneaking through the hotel lobby went mostly unnoticed, bare feet completely soundless on the polished, elegantly grained stone tiles.  
Yuri was in desperate need of a shower, yesterdays' grime clung to him like a thin, sticky membrane and he believed he'd stepped in some gum on the way here. 

The elevator dinged and Yuri slipped inside.

 

As soon as the door to his room was locked behind him, Yuri's legs promptly folded underneath him and the floor was suddenly a lot closer than before. He was so damn tired.  
Maybe there still were some painkillers in his suitcase, because the list of physical aches was getting irritatingly long.  
His personal mobile apothecary could've always used some restocking, carrying just the bare minimum to remain functional, (Pain helped him focus) but even that had been neglected lately.  
No use fixing what will soon break again anyway.

All the built up tension and stress of the last month suddenly washed over him and a sound dangerously close to a sob threatened to come out of his throat.  
The sleeve pressed against his throbbing eyes came back suspiciously damp.  
Wow, this was rock bottom wasn't it?

Yuri couldn't have stopped the coughing even if he tried.

This time it wasn't just petals, they were whole blossoms, the stems sometimes still attached to them.  
Blue and yellow primroses all over the hotel floor mat in his entryway, some shining with saliva and a few specked with bright red droplets of blood.

Fuck, he was far gone wasn't he?  
Yuri thought before collapsing in a small sea of blue and yellow. Colours of the kazakh flag, how ironic is that?

The angry buzzing of his phone went unheard as well as the curious meows of Potya for that matter, who was glad his human had come home earlier than expected.

Dreams of a warm solid body underneath a worn leather jacket and an unknown city rushing past him accompanied him in his fitful sleep. Night air breezing through hair and colourful street lights melting into the clear, starry sky above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait, I just moved and started working but hopefully ya like this new chapter owo
> 
>  
> 
> Interesting piece of trivia, the flower language meaning of primroses is actually 'I can't live without you' so here's to an extra level of irony here XD


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slowly slides this over the table, fully aware that it's been forever* 
> 
> Have some filler, more sadness and some explanations!

Yuri woke, stiff and rather disoriented, still curled up in the entryway with crumpled flowers stuck to one side of his face and the warmth of a half forgotten dream still lingering. His mouth tasted like he'd slept with a handful of copper coins in it.

Chest and throat were hurting. A lot. As if something with hooks for hands had decided to climb them on the inside.

Potya had apparently decided to abandon both laundry filled suitcase and rumpled bedsheets in favor of the small of Yuri's back. Appreciative of the gesture, he made a mental note to buy those extra fancy treats as soon as he got his wallet back.  
And also his shoes. 

Groaning at the memories of this morning's disaster, Yuri nudged the cat off his back and carefully got to his knees. Checking the time on his phone he found that he'd been out cold for hours, it was almost 6 PM. The amount of missed calls and angry messages made him decide that he needed a long, hot shower to have even remotely enough energy to deal with them.

The outside world and the mess on his floor mat had to wait until he felt human again. He pulled himself up and stretched his arms out above him, his back making a series of rather awful noises as a result of several vertebrae shifting back into place. Passing out on the floor hadn't been the smartest move, really. 

 

He turned up the temperature, just short of it being scalding, and let the spray of water thrum over his back.  
Mind blissfully blank, Yuri closed his eyes for a few minutes, before he grabbed sponge and began to systematically scrub off three days worth of sickness and grime. His feet left dark smudges on the tiles.

 

Skin pink, hair mostly free of tangles and smelling faintly of lemongrass, Yuri emerged from the shower feeling just a little bit better.  
The air outside the bathroom made him shiver, so he pulled the shirt he'd carelessly thrown on the floor earlier over his head and put his briefs back on.

Not quite wanting to face the onslaught of worry masked by wrath on his phone just yet (the latter probably lay quietly dying in a corner) Yuri decided to treat himself to some tea he'd seen catching dust in the far corner of the kitchen cupboard.

Fetching one of the individually wrapped teabags from the small, dented cardboard box he tried to resist the urge of checking the ingredients for sweeteners. It's just tea, Yuri. Some dried green shit in a biodegradable bag won't threaten the chances of success any more than tuberculosis with a flower pattern.  
'Special edition'.  
Yuri snorted at the thought and checked the back anyway.

The tea turned out to be ginger and he sent out a mental 'thank heavens' to whatever entity was listening.

It wasn't the same tangy, fresh burn of his grandfather's tea always served to him whenever he lay in bed with a cold, a fever or the croup.   
Slice of lemon, spoonful of honey. A large, rough hand on his forehead.

Yuri settled on the kitchen chair, one leg drawn to his chest and smiled into his mug.  
The tea was too weak and too bland, but it warmed his insides and soothed his throat.

The small moment of peace was interrupted by the distant sound of his phone weakly trying for his attention.   
He sighed and quickly drained the the hot liquid, mindful of the dregs at the bottom.

Resolve steeled and still holding on to the remnants of comfort, Yuri put the mug into the sink and padded into the dreaded hallway.

He found the familiar pattern of his phone case partially buried underneath the wilting flowers and peeled off the petals with muted disgust.  
The small, red numbers on the far right corner of the display reminded him that it was only a matter of seconds until it's impending death so he hurried to his bedside and fumbled the beat-up charger into the socket.  
Close one.

Eight missed calls from Yakov, eleven from Lilia. Their voice mails ranging from angry to exasperated. One was from Viktor which Yuri didn't even bother listening to. 

He began swiping away what felt like thousands of texts, half reading some and ignoring most.   
The lack of messages from Otabek didn't surprise him in the least but it still twinged in the part of his willful heart that demanded being chased.  
Beka was probably tired of his shit by now and assumed his attention wasn't welcome. He knew when to keep his distance, always letting Yuri regain his composure after his fits of stroppiness, but being present enough to let him know it didn't deter him.

It used to at least. However long Yuri still had left, it wasn't enough to repair what he'd ruined. He wanted to kick his boozed up, freshly seventeen year old self in the gut.

The evening was supposed to be careless fun. Underage barhopping with the birthday boy, relishing in the little free time they had in-between competitions, drinking away the frustrating struggle with his growing bones.

They had already been well into their fourth drink, their conversation having quieted into a comfortably buzzed silence when Otabek pulled a big, brown paper package out of his backpack. He placed it on the table and slowly shoved it over to Yuri, who stopped pushing around the ice cubes in his glass with a straw and lifted a surprised eyebrow.

"Almost forgot."

Otabek took a sip of his Manhattan and wordlessly motioned for Yuri to open it.

Still sceptical but unable to conceal his excitement, Yuri unknotted the string and tore apart the carefully wrapped packaging.

And his eyes went big like the paper coasters beneath their glasses.

He reached out his hand to reverently stroke the shiny, black leather that lay before him, neatly folded and surrounded by a halo of paper shreds. 

"You did not!"

Yuri slowly picked up the jacket. It was huge and smelled like a new car seat. 

Otabek was fighting a grin and his eyes had a kind of shiny quality to them, the alcohol making it increasingly difficult to retain any semblance of stoicism.

"You looked so sad that mine didn't fit you anymore, so maybe this will finally stop you from stealing my jackets." 

Yuri wanted to protest that it was only the sleeves getting a little short and defend himself by saying that he'd only *borrowed* it for a couple of months but he was stunned into silence. 

The other was wearing an easy smile by now, booze flushed face propped up with one hand, reveling in silently watching Yuri admire the beautiful tiger embroidery on the back.

"Where on earth did you find this??"

Yuri had finally regained his speech and was struggling to coordinate his arms into the sleeves.

"Oh, connections you know..." 

Otabek responded, smugly refusing to elaborate.

"You'll have to introduce me to your dealer" 

Yuri almost giddily hopped down from the barstool to look down at himself, swaying only a little as he found his footing.

"It's way too big though" 

He flailed his arms inside the sleeves for emphasis.  
The attempt to roll up the stiff fabric one handedly failed so his hands simply disappeared behind the cuffs.

After a few moments of watching him fumble, Otabek decided to put him out of his misery and carefully got off his own seat, one steadying hand still holding on to the bar.

He stood close enough that Yuri could smell the whiskey in his breath as he folded the stubborn leather far enough up the other's arm to make it look like a style choice and not a necessity.

"You'll grow into it."

Otabek looked up at him while his hands still lingered.  
Damn his thoughtfulness. Yuri was almost getting choked up.   
He could have kissed him for this. 

 

So he did.

 

For a total of four, maybe five seconds the earth seemed to stop spinning. It was sloppy, warm and it made Yuri feel dizzy. The screams of the more reasonable part of his brain were muted out by the crashing riptide of feelings that threatened to pull him under.

 

But then the moment was over and now there were hands on shoulders that gently but decisively pushed him away.   
A wave of cold regret crashed over his head and he felt very sober all of a sudden.

Otabek had not reacted, just looked at him, wide eyed, flustered and kind of freaked out. Was he angry? Was he disgusted? Yuri couldn't tell. Thoughts were spiraling too fast to comprehend and he was reeling from it. 

The silence felt like an eternity. A few other patrons who had noticed their little 'interaction' had started muttering and were trying not to look like they were staring.

"Uhm...maybe this is not an...ah"

Otabek struggled, mind clearly racing to find the right words.

He was trying to let him down gently.

Having regained a little of his composure he looked him in the eyes with a serious expression.

"Listen, you're...we're really drunk and..."

Looking back he knew Otabek was trying to be kind but it still felt like being stabbed in the chest.

"...you're still a minor and all..."

That did it.  
More people than Yuri cared to count treated him like a child. Otabek had been one, if not THE one blessed exception.

Yuri's face must have betrayed his anguish because he saw Otabek flinch at his own words.

"Wait no, I..."

But Yuri didn't let him finish, ducked from under the hands that were still on his shoulders and backed away.

"You know what, forget it."

He hated how choked his voice sounded. Beka looked at him helplessly as Yuri turned to leave.

"Wait! Let's talk about this tomorrow, alright?"

He stopped but didn't turn around.

"Whatever."

Yuri scoffed, pulling the familiar, angry persona around himself like a protective shell.

He didn't hear the mutter of irritated voices as he loudly slammed the door shut behind him. The cold night air stood in stark contrast to the comfortable warmth of small pub with it's wooden desks and dim, yellow lights.

Hopefully Beka didn't get the idea of following him.   
Yuri doubted it, but quickened the pace anyway. He just wanted to get away, sleep off the booze and pretend like the last fifteen minutes of his life never happened. 

Small groups of loud, cheerful night swarmers looking for a warmer place to get drunk in passed his way as he strode through the night, pulling the too-big jacket closer without noticing.

....

 

The sudden knocking on Yuri's room door almost made him jump out of his skin.  
Who in the hell? How long had he been sitting on the bed feeling sorry for himself?

More knocking and a muffled voice calling his name.

"Yuriooo?"

Yuri's eyelid twitched at the mention of that nickname. This narrowed down the pool of people that would try to knock down his door significantly.

He considered playing dead but came to the conclusion that it would cause more trouble than it was worth. With a big sigh he barked a gruff "Be right there!", got up to put on some pants and hasted to get the door.

And froze up in the middle of turning the key.

Both of his feet stood in the middle of the most damning pieces of evidence. Yuri cursed under his breath. Somebody invading his space hadn't been part of the equation. 

"Shit, shit, shit" 

He muttered to himself as he haphazardly scraped all of the shriveled flower parts onto the floor mat and carried it...where? Where was he supposed to hide it?

"Is everything alright?"

Worry. On the verge of calling others for help. Fuck.

In a burst of panicked energy he dashed back into his room and shoved it underneath his bed, as far to the back as possible. Not exactly creative but it had to do.

The knocking was getting insistent.  
Did they still think he didn't hear it? Idiot. Yuri took a deep breath and swung open the door.

"Chill the fuck out, what..."

Well this was unexpected.

"Katsudon?!"

Standing on the other side was Yuuri Katsuki, wearing a smart, dark blue coat Yuri was almost certain Viktor got him, his glasses and a smile.

"Can I come in?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heheyy another cliffhanger :'D
> 
> The next one will be up sooner I promise! I've been struggling with this one bc I didn't really know how to continue the story but now I have a more solid layout.
> 
> Stay tuned!


End file.
